


Ich ist tot, es lebe Wir

by Billywick



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: M/M, tw: self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompted drabble. Prompt: Tommy insecure about his old cutting scars. General setting is established relationship, not based on any particular 'verse of mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ich ist tot, es lebe Wir

It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that the scars would fade in time. Years passed and still they were there, ugly, white lines on his already pale skin. Would he never escape the misery of his past?

He shouldn’t care. He knew that. No one knew better than Tommy Shepherd that the past should be left behind in the dust. As a speedster, it was all sorts of tragic that exactly that was something he never could do.

Or at least, he’d managed to run from everything else, but never the scars. He hated them. They were evidence of a time Tommy never wanted to revisit, a time of suffering, pain and hatred. Of everything, everyone and especially himself.

Tommy remembered all too well how it felt to have the blade sink into skin, slicing away layers until the deep crimson of his blood welled up and washed away a little of himself, his despicable, weak self.

The speedster rubbed over the thin lines, wishing he could will them into sinking away, taking the colour of the skin around them so they might become as invisible as his past was to the world. He did a tremendous job at hiding his pain from all that existed. Tommy Shepherd, beneath the swagger, beneath the snark, was one very broken and fucked up soul. And it was okay that way. He’d always been on his own, ever since his less than perfect childhood and certainly every moment he’d discovered his mutant abilities. He was who he was and accepted his own flaws, beneath a shining array of falsehoods.

But it hadn’t always been that way. No one knew that. And no one ever would, if these damn scars would just sink away into the depth of the dark crevice of his past.

“Tommy? What are you doing in the dark?”

He jolted, nearly leapt from where he stood at hearing Noh-Varr’s voice. He was going to figure out how the Kree managed that whole silent creeping thing at his size one day. With a harsh tug at his sleeve, he covered what had occupied his sight and thoughts.

“Jesus, Noh, can’t a guy just gloom around the dark a bit in peace? What are you doing creeping around anyway?”

“Looking for you. It’s rare for you to miss a meal.”

“Oh,” Tommy frowned, rubbed a hand over his face to coax back a casual smirk or something in lieu of his mood which must have painted his features, “Shit, I forgot they were all staying for pizza at the hideout. I’ll be right down, you better not have eaten everything roachboy.”

Even to him, he sounded shaky. And god did he hate that. Tommy Shepherd didn’t ever sound unsure of himself, least of all in the presence of others. Even if Noh-Varr had a few special Tommy privileges.

And apparently, one of those was calling him out on his bullshit, because the Kree planted himself in the doorway after flicking the light-switch. The illumination only highlighted his stern expression. Not that Noh was a guy known for his casual smile, but he usually managed not to look constipated when faced with certain speedsters.

“Something’s wrong. Are you not feeling well? You took some hard hits during training today.”

Noh’s answer came as an affronted snort.

“And who threw those punches? You know the point of training isn’t to kill your partner, don’t you? Or didn’t they teach you at baby military school?”

Even by Tommy standards, his tone was too sharp, too raw. Noh and he were no strangers to quipping, trading words that other couples (and god he hated calling them that, couldn’t they just be a thing?) would balk at.

But Noh-Varr didn’t shy away from him. It would have surprised him if he did, honestly.

“Your arm. You were staring at it.”

Tommy flinched, bodily, mentally. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Noh-Varr has seen him naked numerous times and with the meticulous (anal) attention to detail he paid, it would have been a miracle for him to miss the lines.

“It’s about your scars, isn’t it.”

Tommy struggled for breath, heart racing in a manner he wasn’t comfortable with. He didn’t like this, he was in a corner here, his own, dark little corner no one ever joined or was welcomed into and it was being thrown wide open, with Noh’s calculating logic shining a cold light on the ugly, frail soul inside of the speedster.

Was he having a panic attack? He didn’t know, but he tried to swallow it down, only to find that it rose back into his throat like bile.

“I don’t...Can we just not have this conversation, forget you even know about them and go downstairs? I’m seriously hungry for some-”

“They’re self-harm scars, aren’t they? The placement, depth and order all indicate self-infliction.”

“Shut up. Noh-Varr, seriously shut up.”

The panic was clawing at his throat now, seizing his back, his legs, cold grip around his heart. He didn’t want Noh to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this, but especially not the Kree he’d come to respect after so long.

The Kree who was now moving over to him, placed his hands on taut shoulders and guiding him to sit down on the window sill he’d been standing by. Noh-Varr’s hands spread fickle warmth over his skin, a warmth he would have been more than willing to throw himself into any other time. But now, that warmth felt like searing flames that held no notion of comfort.

“Tommy, you know empathy isn’t a particular strength of mine. You know we do not converse about emotions often and I respect your privacy...”

“...There’s a but coming up isn’t there,” Tommy breathed, hands finding a grip on the sill below him, only to be plucked by Noh’s obscenely beautiful ones. The speedster almost jerked himself bodily out of the window when Noh-Varr rolled up the sleeve, but a tight grip secured him on the ledge.

“I don’t know what caused you to do this to yourself,” Noh-Varr began, his voice oddly mollifying without any trace of pity, “but you know you and I, we share many things. Our pasts even, if you will. I know what being in a place like that can do...”

“It’s not about being locked up in juvie, Noh,” Tommy offered, still struggling to accept they were talking about this at all, “I only feel anger when I think of that. This..this is something...Noh-Varr?”

His eyes widened as the Kree lifted his arm, pressing his face closer, leaning to rest his lips upon the thin white lines. He was at a slight angle that allowed Tommy the view of a beautiful crystal blue eye.

“You loathe yourself.”

The grip on his throat seized him so tightly Tommy choked for two heartbeats. He would never understand how Noh sliced through his layers, his carefully constructed walls so quickly and effortlessly. It terrified him that someone could do that, and yet, a tiny part of him cried out for Noh, reached and snatched and latched on from his dark corner.

“Not...anymore. I don’t feel like that anymore,” there was doubt in that blue eye, “not for a long while. And...the team kinda helps. You help. It’s just, I can’t...forget.”

Silence as Noh-Varr contemplated the revelation and Tommy wanted to flinch back into his corner, tug a blanket over his head and not look at the world for a week or two.

“You shouldn’t. Forget, I mean. This...you did this to yourself for a reason that warranted you injure yourself to feel something. That’s what I think you call a low point. Which you you’ve risen from...that’s tribute to your strength, is it not? You shouldn’t look at your scars in shame. They are proof...not of your failing, but of your strength. You are not the same person who put the blade to your skin. You’re the one who looks down on that weak being. You survived, and you are stronger.”

Tommy let the words wash over his mind, tried to still all his outrages at Noh’s analogy and understand what the Kree was trying to tell him. Oddly enough, a part of him agreed. A part that subtly nudged him to give this alien, who carved himself into Tommy’s life and heart so easily a chance to understand him. Maybe to crawl into that little dark corner and light it up with his stupid logic and help Tommy see. Even if the speedster never asked for it.

“...You’d make a horrible therapist, you know that?”

“It’s not an occupation I have considered.”

“Good.”

Noh-Varr stole his breath one last time, as he dipped in for a final touch of his lips to the scars, as if he had some romantic and idiotic notion of kissing away the marks. Tommy didn’t think he did, that wasn’t how Noh ticked and the speedster loved him for it. Yeah. He loved him. Noh didn’t need to hear it, the world didn’t need to hear it and it probably never would, but it was the honest to non-existing-god truth.

“...I did save you one piece, but Hulkling might have sat on it.”

Tommy’s laugh rang out as a relief, the heavy atmosphere of the room sluicing off of them.

“You’re a dick. Go out and get me some more. From Chicago though, right now.”

Noh-Varr gathered him off of the window ledge, refusing to set him down, which sent Tommy into a small squirm of protest before he settled for a temporary koala cling, looking down as Noh tilted his face up.

“Only if you come for the run with me. Slowly. So I can keep up.”

Tommy gave an eye-roll, and maybe he even pressed a small smack of his lips to Noh’s mouth.

“That’s not how we roll, roachboy. You can get an appetizer and eat my dust.”

“You’re a charming asshole, Shepherd.”

“My god who taught you how to curse, I need to kiss them.”

“Get a mirror.”

Tommy was still laughing by the time they headed out of the door in two white blurs.


End file.
